There's a chain of convenience stores called Wawa. They're mostly in mid-Atlantic states (NJ, MD, VA, DE, PA) but they're opening lots of stores in Florida. None in my neck of the woods, but I've seen them in the Orlando and Daytona areas. More convenience stores selling more junk food! Just what Florida needs!

Chongo doesn't stalk women. He does admire them, though. Shane, on the other hand, stalks pretty much any woman he can find to stalk, but his stalking range is fairly much limited to the local areas around Blind River and Sudbury and maybe over to Wawa.

You were wise to make that naming decision, BWL. My daughter is more zaftig than your niece but still quite a striking (literally!) woman. Chongo needs to find less assertive women to stalk consider adding to his acquaintance. LARP (Live Action Role Play) uses rubber and styrofoam, but as my daughter, she learned to use wood and steel. Just sayin'.

Soooo... I was thinkin bout gettin dreadlocks for the summer. Well, 'a' dreadlock. Well, maybe lettin the back grow a bit on accounta it sucks tryin ta cut that back there where I can't see. But, it gets itchy, so, maybe I'll just keep buzzin it like I do the rest. Well, by 'the rest' I mean, where hairs grow on me head. The other place where me hairs grow ain't NEVER gonna get buzzed again. I shoulda NEVER listened to that woman. Itchy? FUCK YEAH! I hate shavin me face twice a day let alone weedin a garden that don't grow... ahhh... TMI. gnightgnu

The good lookin' young woman came to be related to me by marriage. No shared DNA.

BTW, "Isobel" is the name of the clothing line she was modeling for in those photos, not her name. I won't say her name on this thread for fear that she'd be stalked by some reprobate asshole from Blind River.

The plane landed in Deadhorse and two people climbed down the stairs, one of medium height and one smaller. The smaller's arms hung down to the knees. Both were wearing cold weather gear against the wind and the -48C temperature.

Once in the heated airfield office they took off much of the heavy clothing. Two women, one a chimpanzee and the other a jumpsuit. The clothing was obviously of excellent design and manufacture.

"Well," said Penelope Rutledge (for that was the taller), "where is she?"

"She said she'd meet us...there she is!" exclaimed Chinga, for she was the other one, and pointed to another chimpanzee waiting beyond the security gates.

As they passed out of the landing and reception area the waiting chimp came over to them. She, too, was well dressed.

"Yes, I have. I remember very well our little escapades in Chicago, for it made me what I am today. I suppose," she continued reflectively, "I was never very happy as a male."

"Glad to see you again," said Penelope, shaking hands with Chonga.

"And how is Veronica?" asked Chonga.

"She's well. She took the veil, you know, and entered a cloistered Abbey in the Pyrenees. From her last letter she has been named Sub-Prioress. She seems to enjoy her new life; I worry about her and will be visiting the Abbey this spring."

"Shall we continue these discussions elsewhere? Perhaps over dinner?" suggested Chinga. The flight seemed too long and I could use refreshing. Where are we staying?"

"The Prudhoe Bay. Best hotel in town, of course. And here comes our snowcat now!"

A vehicle looking like a van on tracks (which is what it was) pulled up. The driver collected the baggage and stowed it and then opened the door and showed the three into a rather luxurious passage compartment.

"To the hotel, please," said Chonga. She turned to the other two and said, a twinkle in her eye, "there's only one good enough."

That is for sure! Almost any change would be an improvement. Chongo says he is going to have Pocatello "cleaned up" after he is elected. I'm not sure how that would be accomplished, but I think it would begin with removal of the "undesirables", meaning about 80 to 90% of the present population.

How did such a good lookin' young woman come to be related to you, Bee Dub? Why don't you tell her about the joys and thrills of Pocatello, Idaho so she can move here? The town needs all the beautifyin' it can get.

Now. Ants. Fuckers. The weather has been non-cooperative with cold and rain. But, today... 30C and sunshine and it is forecast to continue. So, then. Cotton balls laced with a boron, sugar and water mixture are about to be unleashed on said pissmires. They don't know whose lawn they are fucking with.

Hi, Mom. I have now been to Biloxi, Mississippi! No, I didn't go to see Toby Keith, nor did I go to gamble away my life savings at any of the many casinos there. A niece has moved to New Orleans, and Biloxi, being about half-way between Pensacola and New Orleans, was a convenient spot to meet for lunch and a bit of touristy type stuff. It was very pleasant, particularly since said niece is a particularly beautiful human being (CLICK). Despite being a millenial, she has no piercings (ears included), no tattoos, doesn't wear makeup, leaves her hair in its natural color, and doesn't polish her nails. She does shave her legs.

So their mutual home is in Orilla, and it's considered the glittering jewel of the country? It's okay with me, but since Leacock died when Lightfoot was six years old I have to assume from your statement that Gordon has some psychologically interesting...proclivities. I'd have thought that the health department would have been involved long ago.

Rave on, Master Hawk, rave on. Some day the light of Truth will penetrate even through your thick, snow-sodden conifers and enlighten even the far reaches of your grim, God-forsaken village with its dusty, ash-coated byways and dingy shadows.

Sheesh. It's like listening to the ravings of some dipsomaniac halfwit...

Yokels? You silly man! This is an arts town, a centre (Canadian spelling) of sophistication and culture, the home of Stephen Leacock and Gordon Lightfoot, the glittering jewel in the crown of Simcoe County. We don't even allow dumbass yokels from states like Idaho or Texas to enter this town until they've been de-loused and checked for infectious diseases.

Furthermore, we have a well-armed citizenry here, an experienced militia ready to answer the call when any of you Yankees dare to violate our sovereign borders as you did back in 1812. And we know how to handle our guns too, because unlike you hairy-arsed swamp and prairie dwelling yahoos, we have to pass a proper firearms training course before we are allowed to buy our guns. So we know how to use them, eh?

Go buy some of those inferior Dunkin' Donuts, drink some more crap American beer, and count your admittedly meager blessings.

I just spent a lovely weekend at the Mariposa Folk Festival. Music, music, music. Life is good. Chongo was unable to attend, which is a shame, because he would have loved it, even if there was no whisky provided in the beer tent. Several locals have volunteered to serve as bodyguards for Chongo, since Chimpanzees in suits aren't usually seen in these parts. He's becoming a minor celebrity around here, thanks to Facebook.

There are probably 20 or so road signs on the road where I live. They're all shot full of holes except for two that say "Church". It's like the local rednecks aren't scared of the sheriff's deputies who'd bust 'em for shooting speed limit signs, but they're afraid they'll go to Hell for shooting holes in the ones that belong to Jesus.

I was called, in disdain from some offended Cash fans, Johnny Cashed one night about forty years ago at a pub. Played/sang Burning Ring Of Fire. My cover lyrics... about chili and hemorrhoids. No sense of humour had those southerners from Albert County, NB. You think YOU got rednecks "down south". These folks take a chainsaw to all the road signs and use em fer bonfires. "Listen up, boy... if you don't know where you are, y'all shouldn't be here!"

My son called to report that a new friend of his, a pretty girl, had been looking up his Facebook links and had been gushing about my videos. Called me Johnny Cash. I suppose that is a compliment, really! :D

Mom, do you think BS will ever be replaced by AI?

I don't. I mean "Mother of All AI" just doesn't feel the same, uless you're talking about Ada Lovelace.

BTW... while I am up here on this smelly high steed from which I pontificate, hear ye far and wide that ye sinners shall burn for all eternity if you do not REPENT!

Nice vocals and instrumentals eh? Even though that part about the pregnant girl being saved by The Lord from the Long Black Train is kinda overdoing it a tad. Literary bullshit or some such is the technical term, I think.

Oh... yeah! I must go find that other one... or two... two faced bastard makes good music, he does.

Mom! Why am I seeing advertisements for a Toby Keith concert in Biloxi, Mississippi? I don't like Toby Keith. I've never been to Biloxi. And, most importantly, the concert date is July 1st. That's nine days ago! But the ad is still up! Gluon can go to a concert in the past, but I can't. If I could, I'd go back and see Jimi Hendrix not Toby Keith.

Stay with us, Mother MOAB. Bless our endeavors or endeavours on your behalf. Bless the Max, the Creator, and each of the mods. Bless the servers, restore them, and keep them safe from all harm. Bless all of their little diodes and triodes, their LEDs and LCDs, all their parts. Bless all of Max's parts and those of the mods as well. And bless all of your children, even Amos, and especially your fave rave, me. This we ask in the ineffable names of Turning, Babbage, Lovelace, Bartik, Boole, Cerf, von Neumann, Hopper, Ritchie, Grace, and all your saints. Arpanet!

This is dedicated to the one I lo...I mean, Bee Dubya Ell. **********************************************************

Penelope stretched and laid back in the chaise longe. Always so much to do, she mused. Keeping up with the family investments, seeking out new ground for investments...well, the Alaska thing should be profitable when they get past the Sorry Paling bunch. As they say Up There, "The odds are good, but the goods are odd." She was certain that Chinga and she could tap into some of the goods.

Ballsworthy quietly approached, noted that she'd drifted off to sleep, and took the telephone back into the house. He left a new drink, knowing that she wouldn't sleep long.

Penelope was tickled awake by a butterfly landing on her nose. She sneezed and it flew away.

She looked at her watch. Heavens! It was four-thirty and the General was due for dinner at six! She sipped the gin and tonic, again was amazed at how well Ballsworthy had slipped into being a butler. She's taken him in as a broken man with a police record, given him a job in the stables, and he'd risen quickly in the household. In the old days he'd have given anything to obtain access to the information that was now spread before him, and he was uninterested except when it impinged on his job and then only as long as was necessary. She smiled and thought, from the muck to the stars.

Well, she only had an hour now to get ready for her guest. Hadn't seen him in far, far too long. Since before she made the mistake of marrying...well, that was fixed now and the past was literally buried. And he had the VC now, as well as the CGC. She knew that on the next honors list he'd be able to add KCOBE to his list of letters. Heavens, but he was weighed down with medals -- the Legion de Honnore, the US' Medal of Freedom, and who knew what else? She silently giggled and thought that if he ever fell in the pond his medals would prevent him from rising to the surface.

There was a diffident knock on the door.

"Yes?"

"Ballsworthy, Miss Penelope. The General is here."

"Thank you. Please set out the decanter of Louis Royer. I'll be down in a very few minutes."

Oh dear! The latest episode of the Penelope/Chinga/Chonga/Ballsworthy/etc. adventures did not post! Please, please, please do your very best to reconstruct the post so I may ignore it. My day simply is not complete unless I ignore a faux Little Hawk post or two. And don't even suggest that I go back and ignore an earlier installment. It just would't be the same.

The latest episode of the Penelope/Chinga/Chonga/Ballsworthy/etc. adventures did not post! Lost! Lost for eternity in the Big Bitbucket in the Sky! Fortunately I have poetry to assuage my feelings!

Be kind to all little ones, All fathers, mothers dear, Be kind to your little ones, Their little hearts to cheer. For oh! you know not how soon Their place will vacant be; If God should call one to his home, Your conscience would be free.

Their little forms are tender, They're at your mercy now; They need your kind attention To watch them every hour. While they are little infants, My friends, take time to spare: Do not forget an instant, To give them tender care.

God, he never did intend You to misuse your child; Their little souls to you he sends To bless you for awhile. And if you always will be kind To them, sweet little ones, Oh! what a blessing you will find In after years to come.

You never, never will repent, Dear friend, for being kind; Those little ones to you were sent, And always bear in mind, That God may call your little ones And leave you here behind; Oh! what a happy thought will come -- I always have been kind.

12C and rain. I have a hoody on as I type. The pigeons that sit on the wires outside my window and stare at the back of my hood (I know they do; I have caught them doing it) and wish they were dry too do not unnerve me even if there are far more of them than my army of one. I fear not for my will is strong and my is arsenal armed to the teeth. They shan't dare attack. They shall sit soaked and shivering upon my wires to the world and I shall ne'er accommodate those rats with wings on any level. Flea infested vile vermin.

Besides, I sold my truck and I park my car in the garage so WTF are they gonna do? Shit on my driveway? I wear shoes. HA!

I wonder what they taste like. Damp, I expect.

Hey, A! Enjoy!

Hey, BWL! I cooked my fav last night. Bacon On a Stick. Well, it was a fork... a forked stick... made of steel. Anyway, here is the recipe. Ingredients : fried bacon and beer. Directions : fork the fried bacon into your mouth with beer to wash it down. It's an old family recipe so keep it to yourself.